


A Little of This and A Pinch of You.

by snailhands



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Ford is a terrible baker, Kissing, but a good kisser
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 18:55:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6341248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snailhands/pseuds/snailhands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ford turns his hand to baking and it all goes downhill from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little of This and A Pinch of You.

**Author's Note:**

> A gift for sovonight/veusin over on tumblr. They published an ask about the Stan's baking and I couldn't help myself with regard to the thought of Fordsy in the kitchen! Go check out her art!

Most sane people tend to stay away from their place of work on a day off. You, however, have never been one to follow the norm.   
You dart from your car and hurry through the rain to the Mystery Shack, slipping inside with a relieved sigh as a wave of warmth rushes over you.   
It's a miserable day outside; the clouds thick and dark, the rain falling in heavy sheets. The wind picks up almost as soon as you're indoors, making the old house creak and groan. With a shiver, you toe your shoes off and pad through in search of life. 

"Hello?...." You call out curiously. Stan's car is outside, so someone must be home.   
"In here!" A deep voice rings from the kitchen.   
You jog towards it but pause on the edge of the room, unable to believe the sight in front of you: 

Ford is covered, nearly head to toe, with what appears to be flour. Great splotches cover his sweater, a smudge on his cheek, six fingered handprints on his dark slacks here and there. He beams over at you, positively glowing. 

"Evening!" 

You raise an eyebrow and give Ford a (slightly indulgent) once over. 

"What are you doing?" You ask, trying not to smile.   
"I'm baking, obviously." Ford shrugs. 

"Uh huh, _obviously_." You snort, stepping further into the kitchen.   
The entire room is a total mess. Pots and bowls cover the work surfaces, along with spoons and spatulas and even more flour. There's even some on the floor, for goodness sake.   
Ford has his sleeves rolled up to the elbows, exposing his scarred wrists. You sneak a glance at as much exposed skin as you can manage discreetly; it's not exactly a secret that you've harbored a small ( _huge_ , your traitorous mind corrects) crush on Stan's twin brother ever since you'd been introduced. Of course, the only person that needed to know about your feelings was, as usual, completely oblivious.   
You didn't mind too much, Ford was fun to be around in general. He made you laugh, had interesting stories and was the ultimate study buddy. It would just be nice if you could give your thanks in kisses as opposed to stammered out niceties. 

You clear your throat and lean against a small patch of clean counter top.   
"No offense, Ford, but you don't strike me as the kind of guy that bakes a lot...."   
Stanford wrinkles his nose (adorable, your mind supplies) and tries to dust off his sweater.   
"I have a lot of secret talents that you don't know about, missy."   
The pet name startles a laugh out of you.   
"Oh yeah, _old timer_?" You challenge, folding your arms across your chest.   
Ford gives you a mock sneer and deftly grabs a handful of flower from the bag; you don't even have time to process it before he's blown it into your face.   
You wail, hands flailing as you try to disperse the white stuff.   
"Ford!" You cry, retaliating with a handful of your own flour.   
Your handful showers his hair, a little catching in his brows too.   
Stanford yelps and from that point on it's war: 

The kitchen is filled with shrieks and giggles, dispersed by gentle puffs of flour against the surfaces. You try to anticipate Ford's attacks, but he's far too quick for you. By the time you've run out of flour to throw, he has you boxed into a corner, trapping you with his arms. 

A sharp grin on his face, he refuses to budge and raises a fistful of powder.   
You pout, playful.   
"Wait!" You whine, desperate to avoid your floury doom. 

"What is it?" Ford pauses, his curiosity getting the better of him as usual. 

"Let's make a truce; you don't throw that last bit at me and I'll give you something better." You cajole, acting sweetly. "Something much better." 

"Like what?" 

"Like.... I'll clean the whole kitchen for you." 

Ford shrugs nonchalantly. "Nope." 

You roll your eyes, he's so difficult sometimes.   
"What do you want?" You huff.   
He smirks and leans in a little. You can feel a blush spreading across your face and you really hope the flour is hiding it. 

"I know you think I haven't noticed, but I have." He chuckles. 

"What?" You squeak, suddenly nervous. 

"You think I don't see all the little looks and the tiny bits of flirting? I'm still learning how to live in this dimension again but I'm not some caveman." He laughs, eyes sparkling with mirth. 

You open your mouth to respond but he smiles. 

"It's okay-." 

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have behaved like that." You cut into his sentence, your legs like jelly under you. "Please don't let it be weird between us." 

Ford snorts and shakes his head, some of the flour shifting. 

"I was going to say, I'll let you go if you kiss me." 

You gape up at him. _What?_

He looks at you patiently, smile unwavering. 

"Ford, I-" You struggle to get your words out, your throat dry. 

Stanford frowns a little, a crease between his brows.   
"If you're uncomfortable then I apologize-" 

Panicking, ( _this is your opportunity, you idiot!_ ) you dart forward and press the chastest of kisses to the corner of Ford's mouth.   
It's resemblant of a playground kiss between two little children; shy and awkward. 

You blink up at him owlishly and there's a tense moment of silence where the two of you stare at each other.   
Then suddenly, in a flurry of movement, you're kissing with no trace of hesitance. It's like the flood gates have opened and neither of you feel the need to hold back your feelings.   
You wrap your arms around Ford's neck as his snake around your waist, pulling you flush with his chest. Pushing yourself up on tiptoes, the kiss becomes deeper and Stanford seems to hesitate, unsure of what he can touch.   
Smiling against his lips, you maneuver his right hand down so he can gently, (always so gentle) grope your ass through your dark jeans.   
The silent permission seems to encourage him and he tugs your lower lip with his teeth as he pulls away. You follow his movement with a soft whine, refusing to open your eyes and end the moment between the two of you. 

"My cake is going to burn...." Ford murmurs hoarsely. 

You huff and open your eyes a little. "Really, Ford? You're worried about the cake?" 

"Mabel will be so disappointed if I ruin it, it's for her friend...." He smiles sheepishly, stepping away. 

You sigh; he's so good natured and kind, always thinking of the kids.   
"Alright, I'll let you off this time." You smirk, kissing his cheek. "I'm gonna go find Stanley. He still owes me my wages." 

Ford nods and pulls on a pair of floral oven mitts, already distracted. You grin and commit the sight to memory, unable to help yourself , before you duck out of the room. 

It's only later on, during a shared slice of Ford's surprisingly tasty cake, that Stanley points out the very obvious six fingered handprint on the ass of your pants.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't beta'd this so it's probably a mess and ooc but it made me smile so much I couldn't help but post it.


End file.
